


Memento Mori

by archeolatry



Series: Shortfics [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Author trying to deal with complicated emotions through fanfic, Emotional Dean, Feels, Ficlet, Gen, Human Castiel, M/M, anyway here's wonderwall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 15:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11923470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeolatry/pseuds/archeolatry
Summary: He understands why, even with the tension of the hunt evanesced, Dean’s fear still hangs in the air. It mingles with the scent of sex and the languid humidity of the Deep South and the cigarette smell that’s pervaded the motel room to a molecular level. It’s all so heavy that it coats Castiel’s skin like glaze.





	Memento Mori

He understands now.

He understands why, even with the tension of the hunt evanesced, Dean’s fear still hangs in the air. It mingles with the scent of sex and the languid humidity of the Deep South and the cigarette smell that’s pervaded the motel room to a molecular level. It’s all so heavy that it coats Castiel’s skin like glaze.

They are out of Heaven’s favor. They are in a frail armistice with Hell. They are out of aces.

Dean’s legs are tangled with his. One of Dean’s arms is under his neck, curled to play at Castiel’s hair. The other lay draped across his waist, fingers idly tracing the Enochian letters at his hip. They are pressed skin to skin in a continuous line, from the hollow of Dean’s throat to the crease of his thigh; Dean would cover him like a blanket if he could, if only to touch more of him.

The thickly bandaged gash on his shoulder is still weeping blood.

The swing of that machete was trained to his head. Had Dean not called his name he might never have seen it coming. Either training or instinct compelled him dive to one side, the blade grazing his shoulder before burying itself in a cypress tree. That was long enough for Dean to take off the rugaru’s head, and for Castiel to douse the thing in gasoline and set it ablaze.

The ride back to the motel was gravely silent. Dean held to Castiel’s knee like a life buoy, his eyes only half on the road. He stitched and bandaged Castiel’s wound with trembling hands.

Dean cried as he pulled Castiel towards him, over top of him, threading his fingers into thick, dark hair and filling Castiel’s mouth with kisses. Cried as Castiel plied him with his words and his touch and his body—cooed his mollifications and assurances. What he received in return were soft, needy breaths upon his ear, and three words together in symphony, variations on a theme:

 _I love you_ as Dean's resolve breaks, the taste of tears brackish against their tongues.

 _I love you_ uttered quick and desperate, under the wet squelching sounds of lubricant and the snap of skin against skin.

 _I love you_ less whispered than breathed against his neck, as Dean’s whole body lay limp.

One out loud for every one quelled, every one bitten back. One for an unknown number of thoughts that bloomed and died without ever finding voice.

Castiel had, in his former life and in moments of great blasphemous jealousy, thought of Dean as _his_ human. He had seared his protections into Dean’s ribs. Fragments of his grace bonded Dean’s soul like kintsugi. His love for Dean sat bone-deep, unspoken to human ears.

He understands now, and his first taste of mortal urgency is bittersweet in his mouth.

He can no longer watch mountains erode. He shall go to dust, as humans do, and become one with the planet he grew to call his home. He was now as deaf to the Harmony of the Spheres as his beloved; he must now use his human voice.

They lay together sweaty and disheveled. Finite. Fragile.

He cannot fill the empty. He cannot fix the broken boy inside this man. He can only tilt his beloved’s chin so that their eyes meet, and thumb the tears off his cheeks. He says the words without adding ‘too’. He says them between soft kisses free of expectation. He knows the words are a salve to Dean’s soul.

He understands.


End file.
